A few weeks ago I had a spark of creative inspiration. I had an idea for a new short story, actually wrote it, and prepared myself for a new era of personal creativity. So I turned back to my novel, in the works for fifteen years, raring to go.
And that's when I hit the mailbox. See, my novel is a a gargantuan, ponderous behemoth. Actually five short novels, it's a modern superhero tale about a boy with no memory, the monster that chases him, and all the weird wild adventures he gets into along the way. Sounds ridiculous because it is. By the end of it, some incredibly bad things have happened, nobody's happy and two thirds of the characters have died heroic but terrible deaths. Sounds like fun, huh?
Thing is, I just can't pull myself away from this beast. Hah. Unintended pun there (the story is called The Pull).
It's been eating away at me, demanding to be told since I doodled it out when I should have been paying attention in math class in high school. The characters started as archetypes of people I wanted to either be or be near, and like most good stories, they soon gained a life of their own and started doing things I never expected of them (the foul-mouthed, socially stunted ass kicker girl actually ends up being the true hero for much of the story).
I finished writing it...the first time...in college. It was an enormous weight off my chest, until I quickly realized that everything about it screamed 1994. The characters were often ripped straight out of a video game. The bad guys weren't fleshed out enough, except for Nick's monstrous stalker, who was so fleshed out that he (it) had lost all his mystery. The resolution was way cheesier than I intended it to be. The whole thing felt like a masterpiece buried under a layer of glitter and throwup. Lovely image, I know.
It still feels that way. I've re-written the first book four times now. The second and third three times, and I still can't get far enough in to rewrite the last two. I always throw my hands up in defeat before I get there.
The problems are the same problems I've always had. How do I retain the essence of the characters while stripping away the ridiculous? How do you maintain the relevance of a character who fights with a sword or her fists when you know damn well her assailants should all be using firearms? Even Batman get's shot from time to time. Put him in a room with 300 armed goons...he'll likely get shot a lot. I'm up against a scene now, however, where Nick and Melissa (emo amnesia kid and foul mouthed Xena woman) are literally supposed to take on an army base full of trained killers and walk out without a scratch. Oh, and they don't kill, so all of those guys have to be knocked out/disabled. See what I mean? That kind of thing worked for Superman in the 1980's. Not so much now. It makes me groan with disbelief, and I'm the one writing it.
Nick and Melissa are empowered by a force I won't get into for the sake of not spoiling it. They can do things no one else can do, yada yada yada. They've also been through some shit. Both of them are extremely emotionally traumatized individuals. Melissa was beaten by her father at age twelve, molested by her uncle even younger (who is also a major character), and flees into a life of violence and immorality. Nick is...well...no use putting the biggest spoiler in the book here. Let's just say he's not quite emotionally developed. So I have these very real people doing very unreal, cartoonish things.
I feel like I have something cool there. The bridge between the hyper real and the fantastic has always been one I love to travel. Part of the reason I love Lost so much. These are realistic characters in a fantastic environment. But...Sawyer doesn't start doing backflips and beating up The Others with his ninja skills. If he did, I would tune out.
There's a powerful emotional tale here. I just can't make myself get past the stupid. That being said, one of my favorite characters is a seven foot tall metal demon. Go figure.
Anyway, just wanted to vent...and write. I still have to write something. I hate it that I can't happily work on my magnum opus because it feels like a magnum poopus, but I still have to put finger to keyboard somehow.
Thanks for bearing with me, and any advice would be greatly appreciated. :)
